‘No,’ the girl said. ‘I’ve got to hear it.’ Then realizing her tone had been brusque, almost rude, she looked up swiftly at her grandmother, adding softly so that only Esther, and not the others, should hear. ‘Please, Gran. I must!’

Their attention was drawn back to Danny as, haltingly, he was saying the words they most dreaded to hear. ‘There’s – there’s been people drowned in some places . . .’

They were all staring at each other now in horror, trying to take in the enormity of the destruction that had swept their county’s coastline.

‘What about the town?’

‘I don’t know. Later today I’m going to go up past the Grange and out that way and see if I can get news.’

Ella moved forward. ‘Are you going to try and find Mum, Uncle Danny?’

The man looked at her and even the young girl could see the depth of suffering that was suddenly naked in his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely. ‘That’s why I’m going.’

There was silence and then he looked back at Esther again and said, ‘At least let me take the child back home where it’s warm and dry.’

‘No,’ her grandmother said firmly. ‘She stays here. With me.’

From the tone in her grandmother’s voice, Ella knew argument would be futile.

Over the next day or so, news filtered through gradually regarding the extent of the flooding; how the relentless waves had rolled inland, taking lives, destroying homes and livelihoods in one powerful, ruthless invasion. All the coastal holiday resorts of the county had suffered a terrible battering and now an army of mechanical vehicles moved in to fill up the breaches. Lorry load after lorry load of slag and stone was trundled hour after hour to the stricken coast and men worked day and night to hold back the sea.

With growing horror the people of Fleethaven Point heard of the devastation and counted themselves fortunate in comparison.

Yet they were not unscathed, for still there was no news of Kate Hilton.

Eight

By Thursday the water was gone from the house leaving a carpet of sand and sludge that Esther attacked with resentment. ‘How dare it?’ she muttered. ‘I’ve loved the sea, ever since I first came here as a young lass, and this is what it does to me!’

Jonathan had nailed a thick strip of rubber on to a piece of wood and in turn attached it to a broom handle; a ‘squee-gee’ he called it, and showed Esther how to push it along the floor to sweep away the thick, muddy silt left by the sea.

On Saturday, exactly a week after the floods had come, for the first time Ella awoke to look out of her window and see that the water had finally soaked away leaving only puddles here and there and overflowing dykes as a reminder.

Now, she thought, Mum will come home. She must.